spot 776
by quietgal
Summary: Arthur couldn't help but smile and pick up his pace a little when he saw the car waiting for him. He slid into the passenger's seat and took off his sunglasses. As he turned to look at the person in the driver's seat, his heartbeat quickened: that smile always did him in.


Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he walked through the empty parking lot. There had been too many people at the shoot; he was grateful for this moment alone. Pushing up his sunglasses, he scanned the numbers painted in white on the ground. 881, 880, 879. Waiting for parking spot 776. That stupid patriot had insisted on spot 776. Arthur had relented, so long as he didn't come in that ridiculous red Ferrari.

Arthur couldn't help but smile and pick up his pace a little when he saw the tan (much more sensible) car waiting in spot 776. He slid into the passenger's seat and took off his sunglasses. As he turned to look at the person in the driver's seat, his heartbeat quickened: that smile always did him in.

"Hey, babe." Arthur lived for the calm moments he could have with Alfred, when his lover's voice wasn't screechy or irritating at all – instead, it was soothing, comforting, low. Arthur couldn't resist kissing him, despite the annoying nickname.

"I told you not to call me that," he murmured as they pulled away from their slow, romantic kiss.

Alfred chuckled. "I know, but I can't help it." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Of course you can. You're not trying at all," he huffed, crossing his arms.

Alfred leaned in a bit, smirking. "Can you blame me?"

Arthur blushed, holding his gaze for a moment before quickly turning away. "Yes," he mumbled. Alfred just laughed.

"How was the shoot, sweetheart?" Alfred took off his own sunglasses. He reached over Arthur to search the glovebox for his prescription lenses. Arthur watched him.

"It's not over, actually," he admitted. "We're on break."

"What?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, glancing quickly at Arthur. "I thought you said you'd be done by two."

Arthur pressed his lips together in a sort-of-guilty smile. "I suppose we're going overtime. They keep asking me to change into something different." Alfred had finally found his glasses case. As he straightened up to open it, it was easy for Arthur to see he was frustrated. "I-I'm sorry, Al."

"Well, it's just that I have to be back on set in an hour." Alfred took out his glasses as well as his microfiber cleaning cloth, not looking at Arthur. "I thought we could spend some time together." He begun to clean his glasses lenses.

"I still have a few more minutes," Arthur tried. Alfred didn't respond for a moment, and Arthur's posture shrunk a little with shame. He couldn't help but look away. Noting the still open glovebox, he closed it before turning back to his boyfriend. "... Do you want me to clean your glasses for you?"

Alfred continued his task meticulously, seemingly determined not to look at his boyfriend. "I'm almost done." Arthur nodded, then waited until he finished. Alfred soon put the cloth back in his case, then put his glasses on. Arthur bit his lip: the glasses seemed to age Alfred about five years. It was no wonder that the teen heartthrob often opted for contacts.

Alfred looked at him for a moment before speaking. "This is really… hard," he said finally.

Arthur was quickly concerned. "What is? The drive out? I can help you pay for gas money, or perhaps I could meet you in the middle somewhere–"

"No, no." Alfred shook his head quickly. "Just… y'know. Hiding us." Arthur froze at that.

"… Then, what?" Arthur asked quietly. "You want to go public with this?"

Alfred hesitated. "I don't know." His eyes darted around the car, as if the answer to his problem might be written on the leather finishing. "I just wish I could spend more time with you, and… and go on a real date. Not just hanging out in my car, or at some weird club." Arthur went to speak, but Alfred just rolled his eyes. "Ugh, I know you like it there, but it was so sus."

"So _what_?" Arthur managed, confused.

Alfred groaned. "Sus, babe. It means, like, shady."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, not wanting to discuss his lover's use of idiotic slang at the moment. "Well, I'm not sure if I'm ready to go public."

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, distressed. "Why not? It's been, like, a year! You know I'm serious about this–"

"Alfred, it's been eight months."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Ugh, same difference."

Arthur scowled. "I don't want to go public yet, and that's the end of it! We were supposed to spend time together today, not argue!"

Alfred was quickly angered; he always became stubborn and defensive in the face of conflict. "Yeah, we _were_ supposed to spend time together today! You're cutting it short with your stupid photoshoot! You're always blowing me off to model!"

"It's my job, Alfred!" Arthur shouted, outraged. "I wouldn't ask you to leave one of your stupid Disney filmsets just to sit with me in my car!"

"I don't work for Disney anymore!" Alfred shouted back.

"Oh, please, that's all anyone remembers you for, anyway!"

"I'm a serious actor! I'm good at it, I can do anything I want!"

"Oh, is that so? Did your mum tell you that?"

"No! My agent did!"

"Right, sorry, I forgot that you child actors call your mums 'agents.'"

Alfred only gave a melodramatic gasp at that, speechless. After a moment or two, he began to speak again. "Y-You–"

"I'll let myself out," Arthur grimaced, opening the car door. "Call me when you're done being a moron." He got out and slammed the door shut. He hoped the creative producers were ready for some fierce facial expressions, because that's certainly what they'd be getting.


End file.
